


Lemon Sharp and Vanilla Soft

by inbetweenfractals



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, despite that this fic is not that dark, there's some food issues mentioned but not as part of an eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbetweenfractals/pseuds/inbetweenfractals
Summary: How is he supposed to tell someoneI hurt myself with a knife I used to use for cooking?





	Lemon Sharp and Vanilla Soft

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, this isn't really that dark and there's nothing at all graphic, but still, be safe guys!
> 
> This story was originally gonna be about Taako teaching Angus some cooking, but uh I got this instead. Hopefully that fic will show up in the future.
> 
> Anyway, I've made a shit ton of madeleines recently which is why they sorta play a starring role here. I've even managed to make one really good batch, so that's pretty cool.

Today is not a good day. Most of the time, Taako can pretty successfully bully bad days into becoming okay ones, but he just doesn’t fucking feel like trying today.

Part of it is that he hasn't been able to bring himself to eat today. Days like that aren't unusual. It's why, even when he has enough money, he stays on juuust this side of skinnier than he should be. If he starts feeling woozy, he'll have some soup or something out of a can. It's a crime against the culinary arts, he believes, but at least he won't make himself sick with anxiety by attempting to eat any of his own food.

 _Never trust a skinny cook,_ Taako thinks, and sneers, cause no one’s around to see.

The walk back to his room is quiet, even though it's what passes for midday on the moon. That's good, because he’s not really in the mood for talking to anyone he might run into. He had begged off lunch with his...compadres, saying he couldn't bear another BoB cafeteria meal.

_I'm done! I've hit my quota of shit awful food for the week! I'm good out here!_

Taako disappears on them often enough, they don't even question him anymore. And that's good. Taako doesn't appreciate being questioned. He doesn't want it, he doesn't need it.

As soon as he enters the suite he shares with Merle and Magnus, he slips off his heeled boots and pads, stocking-footed, over to his room. He murmurs the unlocking incantation for the spell he has on your door and enters. If anyone else tried to enter his room without that incantation, _certain parts_ of their body would erupt into some pretty gnarly boils.

Taako doesn’t fucking play around.

He tosses his  boots onto the floor. They land with a soft thump, muted by clothes both clean and dirty that he has left strewn everywhere. His hat is next. Then his cloak, and then his sweater, which he pulls off over his head.

He’s left in just his dress and stockings. The dress is a flashy but comfortable coral number, likely originally designed for late spring or summer. The stockings are a deep blue, with silver thread dotting them, making them reminiscent of a night sky.

It's a good look. Taako very much makes it his policy to look good when he’s feeling like hammered crap. _Especially_ when he’s feeling like hammered crap. That’s one of the secrets of highly effective elves - or, at least, elves that are avoiding their problems. Same thing.

He flops onto your bed and lies there, staring up at the ceiling.

Boring.

He turns his head to the far wall. He has postcards taped up there, stolen from places he’s been. Multiple from Neverwinter, a couple from New Elfington. The ones from Gold Cliff are embossed with shiny golden ink. He has a few from Phandalin, which are now a little nostalgic in hindsight, and even one from Refuge, a pretty little watercolor of the desert poppies that grow there. Various others, from bustling cities to podunk little towns. Raven’s Roost, River Crossing, Greenstone.

Glamour Springs.

He stares up at the ceiling again.

Abruptly Taako sits up, rubbing his sleeveless arms. As much as he might like to, he’s nowhere near tired enough to sleep, and he is definitely too unsettled to even _think_ of meditating. Lying here and wallowing in his sins isn’t very appealing either.

“Fuck this,” Taako mutters and gets up.

He’s decided - he’s gonna cook something.

 

There must have been something to notice.

It's all he can think about now, after. There must have been signs. He should have seen. He should have paid attention.

_You stupid, goddamn narcissistic bastard, you should have realized._

Maybe if Taako had acted differently. If Taako had treated him like an equal. If Taako had reciprocated. If Taako had let him into more than just his bed. If Taako had brought him forth into the spotlight too.

In the end, it doesn't matter that it was Sazed’s poison. Taako fed them their deaths.

(His ignorance absolves him of nothing.)

 

Thankfully Taako didn’t spend too much time pitying himself, so Merle and Magnus aren’t back yet. Like fuck he wants them coming in and eating anything he makes. Truth be told, Taako doubts they’ll be back any time soon (they tend to avoid him when he appears to be in A Mood), but he spells the main door firmly shut anyway.

Then he turns to the kitchen to survey it, his hands on his hips.

He used to make madeleines when he was stressed. He pretty much always had the ingredients because there aren't that many and it's just finicky enough to require him to pay attention to what he was doing.

Flour, sugar, butter, eggs. Vanilla and a lemon. A pinch of salt.

No problem. He has all of that on hand. He doesn't need to transmute anything but the scalloped pan. No problem, no problem.

Taako goes through the simple motions first, trying to ignore the way anxiety curls in his stomach. He takes the only apron between the three suitemates (emblazoned with “KISS THE COOK” and made to fit none of you properly) from where it hangs the cabinet handle, slips it over his head, and ties it around his waist.

Next, Taako sets out all of his ingredients on the counter. He has to move a few dirty dishes out of the way - he stacks them in the far corner of the counter in a precarious pile. Then he washes his hands, trying not to think about anything but the recipe.

Taako sets a saucepan onto the stove to heat up a bit before cutting the butter into smaller pieces and dropping it into the pan. The butter starts melting immediately. He swirls the pan around idly, waiting for the butter to begin to brown. The kitchen smells warm and slightly like nuts by the time he takes the pan off the heat.

Just as he starts measuring the flour, the stone of farspeech that he always keeps on a chain around his neck crackles to life. A slightly staticy voice calls, “Hello, Taako. It’s me, uh, Kravitz.”

Taako doesn't tell him that he could tell it was Kravitz by the sound of his voice, or that the stone only spits static at him when accessing another plane. “Hey, Krav. What’s up?” he says, dumping the flour into a waiting bowl.  Then he starts measuring the sugar.

“Um, well - I got ahead on things today, and so I’m free all afternoon and evening, so I was thinking I’d like to come see you. As long as that worked for you, of course.”

“Hmm,” Taako hums, thinking. He hadn’t really wanted to deal with anyone today, but...Kravitz had just said that he wanted to see him. That sounded sort of nice, actually. And Taako could do with nice, for once. He can't remember the last time things were just simply...nice.

Taako finishes zesting the lemon with a flourish before answering, “Sounds peachy keen, my man. You can waltz right on over whenever you like.”

He slices the lemon in half. His fingers linger on the knife handle.

“Sure thing,” Kravitz’s voice crackles. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Taako juices the lemon and begins cracking the eggs, but he pauses in his work to watch a rift split open thin air. Kravitz dematerializes his scythe before stepping through, lifting the edge of his coat so its hem doesn’t catch on the edges of the rift. He looks up at Taako and smiles, warmth coming across his face like sunshine through clouds. Kravitz steps forward, reaching for Taako.

“Don’t touch me!” Taako chirps, voice a bit strangled.

Kravitz’s face falls.

“No, I - no,” Taako waves his hands at him. “I have egg goop on my hands. It’s gross. Wait - wait a moment.”

He rushes to the sink, hurriedly washing his hands. Kravitz comes up behind him, but there is a hesitance in the sound of his footsteps and Kravitz doesn’t slide his arms around him. Taako curses himself for scaring Kravitz off even as he flicks the water off his hands and steps backwards so he can lean into his personal reaper.

“Did I come at a bad time?” Kravitz asks. While Taako knows he’s serious, there’s enough gentleness in his tone to soften the question.

Taako doesn't know what he's done to deserve that softness.

“It’s never a bad time when you’re around, handsome,” he purrs. Taako slides a hand up to tilt Kravitz’s head downwards and steals a kiss. Only now with that silent invitation does Kravitz put his arms around Taako to pull him in close, ignoring the light dusting of flour on his apron. Taako shivers at the feeling of cool hands on his waist.

It's with regret that he pulls away. “I've a bit more to do here, but go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Mi casa es su casa, and all that.”

Kravitz leans against the corner, out of Taako’s way. “I'm fine right here. What are you making?”

“Madeleines, my man. It's a Taako classic,” he proclaims, and pours a generous amount of vanilla extract into the lemon and egg mixture before beginning to whisk it all together.

“Sounds good. Will I get a taste?”

Kravitz doesn't know it, but that's a loaded question. Taako’s whisking slows for a moment. Through a tight smile, he answers, “We'll see.”

He goes back to his whisking. The two of them exist in an oddly companionable silence for a short while, before -

“Taako, what's that?”

Kravitz’s tone sounds off, but Taako doesn’t know why. He just knows that it causes the anxiety that has been lurking all day to constrict around his chest. As blithely as he can, he asks, “What's what?”

A hand darts out and grabs his wrist. With a yelp, Taako drops the whisk. Reacting without thinking, he reach out with his free hand and digs his nails into cold skin. A curse, and Kravitz lets go.

Taako rips his hand back and holds it to his chest. He snaps, “What in fantasy hell was _that_ for?”

Kravitz looks pained. “I - Taako, I'm sorry, but - your _wrist._ ”

Stomach dropping, Taako looks down. He already knows what hee’ll see, and he curses himself for a fool. Slowly, he turns his arm so his wrist faces up. Numerous scars are on display. Most are silvery with age, pale against his skin, but there are more recent cuts that are still red and angry looking.

Usually, Taako hides the cuts with either magic or makeup when he can't spare the spell slots. But today he had felt like crap and had been wearing a sweater anyway, so he hadn’t thought about it. When he had gotten back and took the sweater off, he hadn’t remembered to hide the scars.

No one was meant to see.

“Shit,” Taako murmurs.

“I'm really sorry for grabbing you like that, Taako, I really am. But please, have you been hurting yourself?”

Taako looks up at him wordlessly. He has no idea how he would answer even if he had the inclination to. How is he supposed to tell someone _I hurt myself with a knife I used to use for cooking_?

How is he supposed to say something like that?

How is he supposed to say that to _Kravitz_ , who despite all the odds appears to genuinely care about him?

Silence - and the damning evidence - is answer enough. Kravtiz’s expression twists and Taako can’t read it. Is that disgust? Is that anger? Is that sorrow?

With a gentleness that makes Taako flinch, Kravitz settles his hands on Taako’s shoulders before drawing him in for a hug. It takes Taako a long moment to unfreeze, to unwind his arms from where they are pinned against his chest and rest them on Kravtiz’s lower back. He can feel slight tremors running through Kravtiz’s body, but he still manages to take comfort in the feeling of being enclosed, of being protected.

Protected from what? Himself?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Kravitz is murmuring. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to hurt yourself. I’m sorry I didn’t see.”

Taako grips him more tightly, feeling suddenly, unbearably selfish. “It has nothing to do with you. Just stop worrying about it.”

Kravitz pulls back, hands gripping Taako’s shoulders again so he has little choice but to look him in the eyes. “Stop worrying about it? Taako, I - I care about you. I can’t just stop worrying about it, even if you tell me to.”

This hurts. Taako hurts in a way that makes him want to lunge for a knife. In a venomous tone, he snaps, “I didn’t _ask_ for you to give a shit. I don’t know what ideas you have in that bony skull of yours, but you don’t know anything about _this_ , you don’t know anything about _me_ , and I want you to _get out_.”

“You really think I don’t know?” Kravtiz asks, voice rising to match yours. He lets go of Taako, who steps away, to start rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll leave if you really want me to, but I don’t want to just let this go. I know. I _know_.”

And he holds out his arms, wrists facing upwards.

“The only scars I still have,” Kravitz says quietly, “are the ones that killed me.”

On Kravitz’s wrists are long scars that run parallel to his veins, stark white against his dark skin. Taako inhales sharply. He reaches out a hand to touch, but thinks better of it at the last second and lets his hand fall to his side.

Knowing that he has made his point, Kravitz retracts his arms and slides his sleeves down again. “I’m no longer in the place I was when I did this - in mental state or physical place. But I still remember it, the echoes of that place and that feeling, every goddamn Tuesday afternoon. I don’t want that for you.”

“I’m not going to off myself,” Taako scoffs, then falls silent. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“I - I’m g-glad for that.” After his pronouncement, Kravitz has picked up a slight stutter. “Do you - do you still want me to go?”

“No,” Taako sighs. “You can stay.”

They hang there in an awkward inbetween moment, before Taako steps close again and flings his arms around Kravitz. Into the curve of Kravitz’s ear, Taako whispers, “Don’t count on hearing me ever say this again, bubula, but I’m sorry. I care about you too. I don’t think I’m going to change.”

“I - I know it can be hard to change. Even after I died and started working for the Raven Queen, it took me a - a long time to stop hurting myself. But I want to do what I can to help you.”

“Same for you,” Taako says, kissing Kravitz’s cheek. Then he smiles. “Do you want to help me finish making these madeleines?”

 

The madeleines turn out golden and delicious. They’re sweet and so, so wonderful.


End file.
